


Blind Faith

by LuciustheDragon



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Brief violent imagery, Established Relationship, M/M, Nightmares, a little hurt/comfort, rancam is fucking soft, vague references to non-fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 04:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17676218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciustheDragon/pseuds/LuciustheDragon
Summary: Camus is away from Japan to manage his affairs in Permafrost. Ranmaru is fine with it, until he isn't.





	Blind Faith

**Author's Note:**

> SFLSFSLFHSAKFHS HUGE THANKS TO REI (twitter: https://twitter.com/ranmarusotoya) FOR HER ART FOR THIS FIC!!!! Her art post: https://twitter.com/ranmarusotoya/status/1093051214319603712?s=21 She's amazing,,, please check out all of her art ever it's Wonderful!!!!
> 
> Also I wanna give a shoutout to Maia, (twitter: https://twitter.com/yumeIove) who's the main organiser for the flashbang, cos I know peripherally that organising this event took a TON of work on his part. EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU MAIA!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy~

Ranmaru, from the moment he met Camus, has always had blind faith in him. Perhaps that is a misnomer, but compared to his (lack of) trust in basically everyone else, it is a faith that is inexplicable and at the same time terrifying. And when Ranmaru is afraid, his gut reaction is to bare his fangs, lash out. He and Camus act out that charade: provocation, conflict, eventual dissipation. It’s never about anything of substance, not until a bit more recently.

 

It still scares Ranmaru, just how much he trusts Camus. Even when Camus admits to lying to his face, he still finds himself wanting to hold onto his words, because there _has_ to be more to it. Something about him, it makes him desperately want to trust him. Perhaps that is how Ranmaru’s love manifests: trusting someone against all odds, with no apparent explanation.

 

He feels stupid.

 

Even when Camus really, truly opened up to him after several too many drinks to the point where he couldn’t lie about it in the morning, even when they got exhausted of arguing all the damn time to keep up appearances, when Ranmaru said “fuck it” and shut both of them up with his lips on Camus’s, he still feels stupid.

 

Especially right now, he feels stupid. Incredibly so. He sits up in bed, the other end devoid of the sleeped-in wrinkles and warmth Ranmaru has grown used to. Camus’s paperwork is not strewn over the little desk at the other end of the room. The side table, whose drawers would normally be nearly overflowing with bags of hard candies, has not a trace of Camus’s late night snacks to be seen. Even the smell of sugar which pervades the apartment is gone, and now Ranmaru finds that not having it causes his nostrils to burn.

 

He trudges into the closet, notes that Camus’s shirts, trousers, jackets, and even his ludicrously endearing silk pyjamas are nowhere to be found. Not even bothering to put on clothes like he originally meant to do, he rushes into the kitchen, scours through the cabinets. One of them is completely empty: the tea cabinet. The large container of sugar cubes is gone from the counter. Everywhere Ranmaru looks, not a single trace of Camus is left. No dog hair on the couch. No mug that Ranmaru bought for Camus as a gag gift that he uses every day for his tea. No strawberry-flavoured children’s toothpaste in the bathroom. Nothing.

 

He must be going insane. That is the only plausible explanation, because Camus wouldn’t just leave, would he? Of course not. Well, that's what Ranmaru chooses to believe, despite Camus saying otherwise, that everything up to a certain point had been all lies. Ranmaru checks his phone. Not only are all messages from Camus gone, but he is not in his contacts list. It is as if, worse than Camus leaving, he had never been here in the first place. No, he would never… would he? No! No way in Hell. Even as he thinks this, his resolve is fading rapidly, and he hates it. Every insecurity of his vulnerable self rears its ugly head, an endless reel in his mind’s eye that invades his headspace to the point where it’s all he can see. His father, worn soles on concrete, backs of too many people to count—everything that made him bitter and angry, everything that brought him to Quartet Night, to Camus. Camus, who Ranmaru thought really, truly understood him. Camus, whom Ranmaru thought he really, truly understood. Camus, who somehow broke past the walls Ranmaru put up without even knowing what he was doing. Of course Ranmaru fell in love with that bastard, and now he’s gone, left Ranmaru alone, again. What he hates the most is that he will keep on waiting. Somehow, the pain is real in his chest. Ranmaru looks down, sees the rusty rivulets of blood dribbling down from where his heart is. _Ah. It hurts._

 

Ranmaru shoots up to a seated position in his bed so quickly that the rush of blood away from his head makes him dizzy. His hair is a matted mess from sweat. It takes a few minutes for his laboured gasps to settle into something resembling normal breathing. He will take to his grave the relief he feels when he realises that the air is sweet. According to the date on his phone, Camus should be back home tomorrow from Silk Palace after a week of managing affairs. Of course Ranmaru can’t just wait nicely for Camus like a normal person. He just had to have an absolute mind fuck of a nightmare, because Ranmaru can’t have nice things, ever.

 

While sitting still for a while, he idly rubs his forehead after pushing back his hair. He hears the door to the apartment click open, and he is too wrung out to think too much about it. When the bedroom door opens to reveal an uncharacteristically ragged-looking Camus, Ranmaru jolts. He doesn’t know if he will ever get used to the silence of Camus’s footsteps.

 

The furrow in Camus’s brow becomes more pronounced when Camus lays his eyes on Ranmaru. “You look terrible.” Well, no shit he looks terrible, but that didn’t have to be the first thing he says. Ranmaru’s mental cocktail of irritation and confoundment makes his answering question not much better.

 

“Why the hell are you here?”

 

Camus sighs at that, letting go of one of his fancy-ass suitcases to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I managed to finish everything I needed to a day sooner than anticipated. You should be grateful.”

 

Now, this… this makes Ranmaru feel really fucking stupid for worrying and for having that dream. Camus worked his ass off to be back a day early, this after condensing a whole lot more than a week’s worth of shit to, well, one week. Ranmaru’s head throbs, but he manages to stand up and make his way over to Camus.

 

“Yeah.” He presses his nose to Camus’s neck and holds him by the waist. “I should be, huh.” Camus doesn’t reprimand Ranmaru for clinging to the fabric of his shirt (and forming wrinkles Camus would have to deal with later), instead opting to return the embrace. Lately, Camus has been far less awkward about physical contact, and right now, Ranmaru is glad for that. After slightly less than a week without Camus, the aspects of him that Ranmaru took for granted invade his senses. Even after travelling back to Japan, which must have been a massive ordeal, Camus’s almost saccharine natural musk overrides the airplane smell and soothes him. When he slides his hand up Camus’s back, Ranmaru notes that his hair is as silky soft as ever. He lets his eyes slip closed, basking in Camus’s presence. Even while standing up, Ranmaru could fall back asleep just like this...

“As lovely as it is to stand here and press my face to your disgustingly sweaty hair, I would prefer it if we could perhaps get clean. I am curious as to how you worked yourself into such a sweat.” At this remark, Ranmaru flinches, hold tightening.

 

“Ranmaru.” He wasn’t going to bring it up, since it’s completely irrational and nothing to worry about. The truth spills out nevertheless. Damn Camus’s tenderness that always catches him off guard.

 

“I just—It’s stupid. Just a stupid dream.” He inhales a shaky breath, exhales, fails to let out the rest of the words caught in his throat for the time being. Camus says nothing, just runs fingers through Ranmaru’s ‘disgustingly sweaty’ hair. The words dislodge again at the intimate gesture.

 

“You were gone. Like you were never here in the first place. I thought I was hallucinating or something, I dunno. I told you it’s stupid.” He is so caught up in his own head that he doesn’t realise that Camus had walked both of them towards the bed. Camus sits on the edge and pats an area next to him. Ranmaru sits and refuses to look Camus in the eye. Rather, Ranmaru tries to refuse, but then Camus takes hold of his chin and tilts up his head.

 

“Your dream is certainly stupid; I assure you that nothing in the dream would ever happen, you have my word. However, you are not stupid for dreaming it and being rattled by it. It’s not in your control. I would go so far as to say that if I were to dream something similar, I would be in a similar state.” Those words would have sounded ridiculous to Ranmaru coming from Camus just months before, but now, they placate him. He leans his head against Camus’s shoulder.

 

“I know it’d never happen, whaddaya take me for? And even if it did, I’d figure it was for a pretty damn good reason, cos I trust you. Not to say that it wouldn’t fucking suck, but, yeah.” Ranmaru has nothing to worry about, but laying himself bare in this way is far more embarrassing than literally stripping naked. Shame flushes his cheeks.

 

Camus shows a hint of a smile for the first time since he arrived back home. “Thank you. For trusting me, that is.” If Ranmaru wasn’t flustered before, he certainly is now.

 

“Hmph. Stupid, I should be the one thanking you.”

“Yes, you should, indeed.”

 

Ranmaru swats Camus’s thigh, scowling. “Ha, so funny.” His lips relax immediately into a little grin. He missed this. “C’mon, let’s get clean, we’re both fucking disgusting.”


End file.
